What Remains of Heroes (9 page)

5

Better than Death

L
an
nick reckoned he’d
been in places far worse. The cell seemed only half as filthy as his quarters, the room’s arrow-loop window permitted a picturesque view of Ironmoor’s bustling harbor, and prison food was a sight better than rumored.
At the very least, it
’s better than
death
.

In the two weeks he’d been in the brig, his wounds had mended some. The shivering sweats he’d endured in the first week had also dissipated, although Lannick still craved a drink more than the air he breathed. He’d begged the guards for a cup of wine or even a flask of rotgut, but was rebuffed nicely the first time and not so nicely the second. He hadn’t yet mustered the courage for a third request, worried as he was they’d make worse the pain that still lingered in his ribs from General Fane’s boot.

Despite denying him libations, the soldiers were positively gentlemanly as far as prison guards were concerned. Lannick supposed it had something to do with the place being a military prison. He figured his captors were of the mind that the inmates they held were a more civilized lot than the murderers and cutpurses rotting in a common jail. His chest swelled a bit at the notion, but then upon further thought he chuckled and winced.

He sat at the edge of his bed, eying the door for a long, nervous moment. Morning was the least pleasant thing about the place. He awoke every day with a cold pit in his guts, certain the day would be his last. However, General Fane had yet to pay a visit, as had his Scarlet Swords. He’d heard the guards mumble that the situation with Arranan was not going well, which Lannick trusted was keeping the general and his brutes occupied. His sense of dread had diminished slightly with every new morning’s sunrise, and he was almost beginning to allow himself to hope.

Perhaps I will survive even
this.

This day seemed a particularly fine one. Lannick arose and pressed his face against the arrow-loop to catch the sun’s warmth. To the east, half a league distant, a myriad of colorful, broad-sailed ships filled the harbor’s blue waters. Trading ships from every corner of the world. He sighed wistfully, remembering his plan to escape Ironmoor aboard such a vessel. He imagined he’d be drunk on sailor’s rum about now, swaying gently in a hammock below deck.

As he surveyed the harbor he counted a number of military vessels, sails emblazoned with the gold dragon of Rune. Most were moored to the docks, met by lines of red-sashed soldiers. Indeed, he noticed the docks swarmed with soldiers, thousands of them, hastily making their way aboard the ships. Even confined in his cell, Lannick envied them not at all. He’d seen quite enough of war.

A knock shook the cell’s thick door, and a shallow bowl of boiled oats skittered beneath. Lannick called out, and an instant later a pockmarked face filled the door’s barred portal. “You’d better not be asking me for that whiskey again,” the guard said.

“Why of course not, good Horus,” Lannick replied, as though the accusation were utterly ridiculous. “Just an honest question, soldier to soldier.” He’d noticed that Horus, though humpbacked and lazy-eyed, relished any implication that he was a fighting man rather than a prison attendant. “Why all of the commotion on the docks? It looks like an entire Column is setting sail. Will you be disembarking as well?”

Horus seemed perplexed by the question, and it took him a moment to straighten up and fix his good eye on Lannick. “Well, no. They don’t need me. Not just yet, anyways. But some of the thanes aren’t answering the call to war, so I guess you never know…”

“Some of the thanes?”

“Brandiss the Thane of Stormfall, for one. There’s talk he won’t commit his oath-bound. Claims he’s under threat of invasion from those sheep-herding highlanders and won’t risk it. And there’s others, too. Thane Meledin of Farwatch won’t send a single soul to the front, saying he fears an incursion from the sea. And—”

“The Sea Lord himself?” said Lannick, mostly to himself. He was surprised to hear Thane Meledin, such an old friend of the High King, would withhold his support of the Crown in wartime. Lannick’s head hadn’t swirled with politics in years and he wondered how much things had changed while he’d been slumped over a bar. “Well, if you’re called to war, Horus, you’ll have to regale me with stories of your heroics when you return. Some grand tales those will be, I’m certain.”

Horus grinned slightly, his good eye glazing over momentarily. “Yes. Yes, you’re probably right.”

“So it’s really war, then? Looks like a lot of men moving about.”

Horus glanced back and forth, making like he was scanning the hall for eavesdroppers. “Word is things aren’t faring well. Not well at all. We took custody of a man last evening. Said the Arranese killed the commander of the Gray Gates and sent his head right to Riverweave. What’s more, they’ve slaughtered nearly every garrison in the Southwalls and are crossing the mountain passes, if he’s to be believed. General Fane’s ordered the whole Third Column to Riverweave. He hopes to crush the invasion before the Arranese can head north, but there’s many men who’re certain to die before he gets there.”

“Well, let us both hope our dear general is triumphant. I’d pity the Spider King of Arranan if the general saw need to unleash your fury.”

Horus grinned again, and he cupped the side of his mouth as though to shield his words from others. “We keep a stash of wine and some harder stuff in the mess. If you can promise me it’s just between us, I’ll bring you a bottle.”

Lannick belched loudly. It was the sort of long, guttural belch that could only be summoned from a fully sated belly. Horus had exceeded his promises admirably. Half a well-seasoned, roasted chicken and a wedge of sharp cheese. The meal paired well with the bottle of spiced Khaldisian wine Horus had brought. Uncorked, even! Lannick had guzzled the first half, but intended a more leisurely conquest of the rest.

The reminders of his confinement were everywhere, yet the wine liberated him. Dark thoughts vanished, the pain of his wounds was readily ignored, and his straw-filled cot seemed an indulgence of comfort. He hummed an old traveler’s tune, gesturing with his bottle at the song’s lulls and crescendos.

For the first moment in days his head wasn’t haunted by ghosts of regret. Thoughts of his “old life”—as he’d come to think of it—were suddenly less painful, and the dark void in his heart felt momentarily filled.

Lannick thought of laughter. His children’s laughter. He thought of snatching his oldest boy and flinging him upward, of the boy’s wide grin as he did so. He thought of the chuckles of his infant twins as he pranced clumsily about before them, arms waving as he pretended to be some great sea serpent threatening them with tickles. Of his beautiful wife watching it all with an admonishing smirk on her face, telling him he was being silly.

Lannick’s hand drifted to the locket about his neck and he smiled. This feeling was fleeting, he knew. Eventually the thoughts of his family would turn to the harrowing image of finding them murdered and mutilated, and his chest would tremble with heartache.

But for this moment, he heard laughter.

Three-quarters through the bottle of wine Lannick’s stomach lurched and groaned loudly. He’d subsisted on prison gruel for two full weeks, and reckoned his innards were not ready for the sudden digestion of rich cheese, roasted meat and potent wine. Another groan and an uncomfortable swell in his buttocks sent him rushing to the foul-smelling bucket in the room’s darkest corner. Just as he perched himself astride the bucket, his door rattled with knocking.

My wine!
His eyes darted to the foot of his cot, where sat the bottle in clear view of the door. He cursed his stupidity, knowing the wine would be seized as contraband and his arrangement with Horus would come to an abrupt end.

“Prisoner!” said a gruff voice. Lannick couldn’t see through the door’s portal from this angle, but knew the guard was not Horus.

“I’m, um, indisposed here,” Lannick said loudly, hoping to pull the guard’s attention to this side of the cell. “Could you grant me just a few moments? I’m worried this is going to be something most foul.”

“Indisposed?” asked the faceless voice. “What kind of smart talk is that? This had better be no kind of trickery.”

“No trickery, sir. It means I’m taking a crap.”

“Oh. Right. Indisposed, of course. I’ll leave you to yourself then, for a short bit anyways.”

“Thank you,” Lannick said, and he meant it. He would have enough time to finish his precious wine. He sighed and finished his task on the bucket.

There came a shuffle from outside his door. “And prisoner?” said the guard. “You’ll be wanting to clean yourself up something nice. You have a visitor.”

Fane
.
Alas, all good things must meet their end
.

The guard shackled Lannick’s hands and led him from his cell. Lannick’s eyes were wide as he walked, as much with curiosity as fear. It was his first real chance to take full account of his confinement. When he was thrown in his cell two weeks prior, his eyes had been swollen and crusted with blood so he hadn’t seen much of anything then.

He realized he hadn’t missed much, as the brig had seemed a better place from the inside his cell than from without. Dark passageways, sputtering torches, and every manner of rank odor and agonized cry. It was frightening and disheartening, a place of torment and terror. A pained howl sounded from a cell beside him, a shriek that hardly seemed human. Lannick shivered and reckoned that if breaking the spirit was the place’s purpose, it was most certainly suited to accomplish it.

The guards, too, lent a burden to the place. They were soldiers suffering from disabilities, lamed by combat or otherwise, doubtless deemed liabilities on the battlefield. The guard before him dragged his left foot as he walked, and had but two fingers on his right hand. The other guards they passed wore cruel stares, seeming as much prisoners as jailers themselves.

Lannick cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir. Might I inquire as to the identity of my visitor?”

The guard grunted. “I don’t know. I was told to fetch you. I was also told to do it right quick, so I figure it’s somebody important.” He turned his thick head and eyeballed Lannick. “You’d best hope the time you wasted shitting causes no trouble for me.”